


Ghostly Love

by TheBabyPandaa



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Dead Hotch, Hotch is a ghost, M/M, Spencer is basically a ghost whisperer, Spencer isn't apart of the BAU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBabyPandaa/pseuds/TheBabyPandaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been two years since The Reaper, George Foyet, snuck his way into BAU Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner's apartment and fatally stabbed him nine times. Hotchner bled to death from his wounds and since then, Foyet hasn't been seen or heard from again.</p><p>Now, enter Dr. Spencer Reid, a science professor at Georgetown who harbors a dark secret. Ever since he moved into his apartment two months prior, he keeps having these strange reoccurring nightmares of the murder. However, Spencer has no idea that the murder actually took place, but why does he keep having these dreams? Now, strange things are beginning to occur; things being misplace, cabinet doors left wide open when he knew he shut them, things moving on their own right before his eyes, and...why is the suited man from his dreams standing in the middle of his living room at three am?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“You should have made a deal,” man in the mask had said, gun pointed in the  direction of the fairly handsome man in a suit, his finger just **itching** to pull the trigger on him. _ _But instead, the man in the mask shot the wall next to his other’s head, clearly intending to intimidate him._

_The man in the suit stood there mutely, stoic expression intact and fixing the man in the mask with a glare. He was obviously unfazed by his attempt._

_The disguised man smirked underneath his mask, then simply inquires him, “Is_ this _a part of my profile? You can’t show me fear?”_

_“If you don’t see fear, then maybe it’s because I’m not afraid of you,” the suited man replied coldly, keeping his stance.  
_

_“You said that like you **actually** meant it,” the masked man sounded amused behind the plastic mask, which didn’t even earn him a blink from the suited man. Then, he asked, “How is my friend Agent Morgan?”_  


_“Are you here to kill me, or are you here to play games?” the man in the suit inquired, his tone sterner.  
_

_"You tell me," the masked man simply stated, but Aaron didn't reply. "Enlighten me, then,"  he said, removing his mask._

_That is when the man in the suit made the first move, punching him square in the jaw. But to his dismay, the unmasked man quickly regained his footing. The unmasked got the upper hand knocked the suited man to his knees. As he attempted to get up, the unmasked man intervened and kicked him in the face with a steel-toed boot. When he tried to get up again, the unmasked struck him with the butt of his gun and the suited man found himself sprawled out on the ground._

_So, tell me," the unmasked man began, tossing the gun onto the table and pulled out his knife, flicking it open in the process, "Would I use this?"_

_He fell to his knees next to the suited man and thrusted the knife into his abdomen...._

Spencer Reid’s eyes shot open and he bolted up from his bed with a yell, clutching his stomach and panting, his chest rising up and down rapidly as he did. His eyes darted down to where his hand was cupping his abdomen, where, in his dream ( or, rather, his nightmare ), the unmasked man stabbed the suited man.

He slowly removed it and found nothing. No stab wound. No blood.

With a frustrated sigh, Spencer fell back into his pillows and stared up at the ceiling. This was the tenth damn time he’s dreamed of this scenario since he’s moved here. He actually kept count. The dreams began occurring after he moved from Las Vegas and into his apartment in Virgina to teach at Georgetown two months prior. The first dream began like all the others; the masked man sneaking behind the suited man and telling him he should have made a deal before he shot the wall next to his head.

What deal he wanted him to make, Spencer had no idea. But the dreams soon began escalating every other night as if it was a story unfolding, just like the one he had just now. The unmasked man never stabbed the suited man before. Spencer just couldn’t make any sense of it, but it terrified him. What did the dreams _mean_? Who were these people?

The alarm clock beside of his bed went off, interrupting his thoughts. With another sigh, he reached over and shut it off before swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and got up. The twenty-seven-year-old dragged himself over to the closet and looked for an outfit for today.

He abrupted paused when he felt a cold breeze graze his bare back and got this... _ **eerie, shuddering**  _feeling. You know, that feeling you get when you think someone is standing right behind you. Spencer swallowed thickly and cautiously glanced over his shoulder.

No one. Absolutely no one.

Spencer let his shoulder’s sag with an relieved sigh, “You’re scaring youself, Reid, geez.”  


After he found his outfit, he grabbed a pair of underwear and padded into the bathroom to shower. He had a long day ahead of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Classes were finally over for the day. Spencer bid the last of his students farewell and began packing his things into his satchel. After he locked up his classroom, the young professor headed down the corridor, but Dr. Reyes, the linguist professor, and Spencer's friend waved him down.

"Heading out already, Dr. Reid?" the older man asked as he approached him.

"Uh, yeah.... there's a ton of paperwork I have to grade by tomorrow morning. " Spencer replied, offering the older professor with a kind smile.

"Ah, I see...," Reyes trailed off, eying Spencer carefully for a moment before he continued, "Spencer..., are you okay? I've noticed that you've been withdrawn and rather tense lately. Not to mention, those bags underneath your eyes have gotten a lot worse since you've started working here; are you sleeping well? I'm beginning to worry about you...."

The smile fell momentarily from Spencer's lips. He hadn't realized that he was letting his little predicament affect him visibly.

The young doctor shook his head, forcing a reassuring smile, "No, no. I'm alright, I promise. I think I might have been overworking myself. That's all. I'm sorry for worrying you, Reyes....But I'm honestly fine."

Reyes quietly studied him for a minute before shrugging his shoulders, “If you say so, Spencer.... I just want to let you know if you need to talk to someone, I'm here."

"Thank you," Spencer replied, smiling more sincerely, "I'll take that into consideration.... I'll see you in the morning?"

"Bright and early," the older professor answered, returning the smile. “Have a wonderful rest of the evening, Spencer.”

"Will do," the twenty-seven-year-old said, "You do the same."

After they said their final goodbyes, Spencer went on his way. He, as usual, took the subway home. It was a little after eight when he finally walked into his apartment building and got on the elevator. Once the younger man got off on his floor, he dug through his satchel for his keys as he strolled towards his suite. He unlocked the door and swung it open.

The young professor didn't even have to set a foot into his apartment to know that something was... _**off**_. He couldn't explain what this feeling was, but it chilled him to the bone. His instincts were screaming at him to run to a neighbor’s and dial the police, but Spencer chose to ignore those them. He quickly hung up his keys and gently set his satchel down on the floor before tentatively advancing through his apartment, searching for anything out-of-place.

He came up empty..., well, that was until he walked into the kitchen to discover that all of the doors ( cabinet doors, refrigerator door, oven door, and even the microwave door ) were standing wide open.

"What... What the hell?" Spencer asked in pure disbelief, taking a few more tentative steps forward to close one of the doors that were blocking his path into the kitchen.

Did someone break in...? But Spencer did a _thorough_ sweep of his apartment and hadn’t found _any_ evidence of a break-in, and he was for _**damned sure**_ that he didn’t leave them open like this when he left for work this morning. 

Someone _**had**_ to do this, he thought.

Reid finally allowed his instincts take over, and he didn't waste any time hurrying out of the apartment to a neighbor's to phone the police.

And for the entire time, Spencer couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu that came over him.

* * *

_“Spencer Matthew Reid, did you do this?!” William Reid demanded, jabbing a finger in the direction of the cabinets, drawers, stove, microwave, and refrigerator that were standing wide open with mashed food, pans, silverware, and other things scattered about on the kitchen floor._

_Nine-year-old Spencer shook his head, “No, daddy! It was Kayla! I swear!”_

_“Kayla? Your **imaginary friend** Kayla?” Mr. Reid scoffed, placing his hands on his hips. “Spencer, honestly! Lying to me will only get you further into trouble!”  
_

_“Daddy, I’m not lying! She’s standing over there!” Spencer exclaimed, pointing a stubby little finger at the refrigerator door.  
_

_And there stood ‘Kayla’, a beautiful, blonde-headed little girl who was about an inch taller than what he was. She wore the prettiest white dress Spencer had ever seen-- - well, it would have been if it hadn’t been stained with her blood and sliced up from, presumably, the knife that was protruding from her chest._

_William glanced over his shoulder then back to his son with fury in his eyes that frightened the young boy, “Spencer there is no one **there**! There never **is**! When are you going to stop with this imaginary shit?! You’re almost ten!”_

_“D-Daddy, I...t-there real,” Spencer stammered, tears threatening to spill.  
_

_“Don’t! If you don’t stop, you’re going to end up just like your mother! In a mental institution!” William shouted, stomping over to the pantry to grab the broom and pan.  
_

_The tears spilled at that and a sob tore from his throat._

_“It’s time to grow up,” William said firmly, thrusting the broom and pan into his son’s hands, “and stop that crying right this instant and get this cleaned up before dinner.”_

_Little Spencer dropped his head in shame and slowly nodded, wiping at the tears, “O-Okay....”_

_In the distance, Spencer could hear ‘Kayla’ giggle._

_“Poor Spencer.”  
_

* * *

“Spencer Reid?” His name brought him back to reality, and Spencer lifted his head and fixated his gaze on the cop standing in front of him.  


“Y-Yes?” he asked, anxiety eating at him. “Did you find something, officer?”  


The officer shook his head, “No..., but...you said that said that the cabinet doors were standing wide open in your kitchen, correct?"

Spencer nodded his head, "Yes...?"

"Mr. Reid, you do know that I could arrest you for putting in a false report, right?"

"Wha...What are you talking about?" he exclaimed, brows knitting together. "I didn't put in a false report!"

The office just sighed, "Then did you close the doors before you called us? Because there's not a single one open."

The young professor just stood there and gawked at the police officer. There was no way....

"I-I shut o-one, b-but...."

"I'm going to let you off with a warning, Mr. Reid," the office said irritably, "If you call us back with another wild goose chase when there are real emergencies that we need to respond to, I will arrest you on the spot."

Spencer was absolutely flabbergasted but apologized for the trouble. After the police left, he slipped back into his apartment ( padlocking and bolting the door behind him ) and padded into the kitchen to find that the officer was correct-- - there wasn't a single door open.

"What a day," he sighed, leaning against the doorframe and rubbed a hand over his face. He knew what he saw-- - he wasn't imagining it! He wasn't crazy. He wasn't like his mother.... It occurred to him that he still had paperwork he needed to grade and groaned, "I need some coffee."

After fixing himself a large mug of coffee, he headed into the living room and sat the cup on the coffee table before he went to fetch his satchel he left sitting beside the door. He hummed a little tune under his breath as he padded back to the couch and plopped down.

The young man continued to hum as pulled out the huge stack of paper from his bag and sat it on his lap. While he went over a paper, he absentmindedly reached out for the mug, but when his fingers didn't register the porcelain, Spencer looked up and was slightly confused when he didn't see it.

He glanced out from the corner of his eye and froze completely.

His mug was sitting very closely to the edge of the coffee table-- - and Spencer **definitely** knew that he hadn't set it there.


	3. Chapter 3

“What...,” Spencer stared down at the mug bewilderingly for a second, before his eyes narrowed in contemplation and hesitantly stretched out his arm, fingers enclosing around the porcelain handle and slid the mug carefully back towards him.

Spencer was _positive_ that he didn’t sit it there..., or perhaps he _did_ buthadn’t realized it? He wasn’t quite sure of himself. The resident genius had a truly long and exhausting day.

Not to mention, he also had a very frustrating evening to top it all off. 

“I must’ve sat it there,” Spencer muttered to himself, leaning back into the comfort of his couch and rubbed at his tired eyes.  


That had to be the only solution. There was no way in Hell that his mug just **_moved_ ** allon its own; why, that would be completely  ** _absurd_** _ **!**_  

With that determined, Spencer took a sip from the mug, sat it back down on the table, and went back to grading. Thirty minutes later, he was midway through the huge stack when he glanced up and reached back out for the mug that sitting _right in front of him..._ until it slowly out of his reach, and directly into the spot where he found it the first time; at the edge of the coffee table.

* * *

After that incident, Spencer hastily stuffed the papers into his satchel, deciding that he could grade them during his break tomorrow, and went straight to his bedroom. He didn’t want to think about what just happened; he just wanted, for the first time in a _**month**_ , to go to **_sleep_**. Sleep deprivation caused hallucinations, and Spencer was _clearly_ hallucinating because there was no scientific explanation that his mug just moved all on its own right before his eyes. 

There was just no god damn  _ **way**_. Sleep deprivation was the only explanation he had.

Although, deep down, he knew was very, very wrong. 

He stripped down until he was only in his boxers and flopped face-down on his bed. Unfortunately, he was unable to fall asleep, so Spencer just laid there. He eventually glanced at his alarm clock, and read that it was four minutes after twelve.

He had laid there for two hours.

Spencer heaved a sigh and hauled himself out of bed. He padded towards the kitchen, trying to avoid the living room as much as he could. He decided that some warm passionflower tea would do him good; it always helped soothe his nervous and helped him fall asleep.

When he stepped into the kitchen and flicked on the lights, Spencer froze up immediately. The cabinets, refrigerator, microwave, and oven doors were all standing wide open again. 

A sense of panic and terror grips him, seizing his chest in an explosive, crushing vice. His breathing was shallow and becoming more rapid by the second. 

Then, the lights began flickering, and he had that same exactly feeling he had this morning and something cold brush against the shell of his ear, prompting a shiver to go down Spencer's spine.

" _Help me...,_ " a husky voice whispered into his ear.

A terrified gasp tore from the twenty-seven-year old's throat, and he quickly spun around on his heels to find...nothing. Absolutely _**nothing**_.

Spencer raced to his room, slamming and locking the door behind him and quickly crawled onto his bed. He sat against the headboard and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs and stared at the closed door in terror.

"Schizophrenia is a brain disorder that affects the way a person behaves, thinks, and sees the world," he whispered to himself, voice cracking, "They may see or hear things that don't exist or feel like they're constantly being watched...."

* * *

Spencer didn’t sleep a wink that night. When morning rolled around, he felt like absolute shit. He thought about calling in sick, but work seemed like it was his only sanctuary at the moment.

He surprisingly made it through the day. Spencer decided to stay behind to finish grading his papers. 

"Did you not get finished grading last night, Dr. Reid?" Reyes asked, slipping into the classroom.

Spencer lifted his head to look at him, his glasses riding low on the bridge of his nose. "Ah, Reyes...," he said, as laying his pen down and straightened, "no..., I didn't get the chance to."

"Ah, that's unfortunate,” the older man replied, casually approaching his desk, “may I ask why?”

The young professor silently debated whether or not to tell him about last night’s occurrences. He trusted Reyes, but he was afraid of what his view of him would be if he told him that he witnessed his mug sliding across the table or the voice asking him to ‘help’ it.

“W-Well, I had a little _incident_ ,” Spencer began explaining, “I think someone had broke into my apartment right before I got home yesterday.”  


Reye’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he folded his arms across his chest, “Really? What happened? Did you call the police?”

“Yeah, I called them, but that was after what I found. The robber, _or robbers_ , must have been going through my kitchen supplies just before I got home because all the doors in my kitchen were all left open. The police came, but they...they didn’t find anything,” he concluded, shrugging his shoulders.  


“They didn’t find _**anything?**_ No sign of a break-in?” Reyes inquired, but Reid shook his head in response. “Huh. That’s... _ **weird**_.”  


“Tell me about it,” Spencer sighed.  


He’d probably find it even weirder if Spencer had told him the rest of last night's events.

“You should think about getting surveillance cameras or at least install an alarm system in your apartment. "  


Spencer quirked an eyebrow, "I've thought about installing an alarm system..., but surveillance cameras? That sounds like a good idea, but I don't think my landlady would approve of that."

If he installed camera's around his apartment, he could, perhaps, rule out that he was developing schizophrenia.

"There are other alternatives for that, Spencer," Reyes says, "like wireless cameras you can set up all on your own. They’ll be expensive, but it’ll be worth it."

Spencer nodded his head thoughtfully, "Yeah..., you're right."

“...You’re my friend, Spencer. I want to help you all I can. I hate seeing you come into work looking like an absolute train-wreck,” he said, “I want you to be your awkward, statistic sprouting self again.”  


The young college professor sat there in silence before he gave Reyes a thankful smile, eyes stinging with tears, “Thank you, Reyes....”

* * *

When Spencer left work that evening, he stopped by an electronic store on the way home and bought a few Arlo wireless cameras. After set up the base to his router and synced up the cameras to it, he the cameras all over his apartment but mainly focused on the kitchen and living room. He downloaded the app on his phone checked to see if the camera’s were working properly-- - they were, and Spencer sighed in relief. 

Now he could figure what the hell was going on. Or... so he _hoped_.

Later, he was lounging in his recliner reading. He occasionally checked his phone's live video feed to see if anything was out of place, but went back to reading if he hadn't noticed anything.

A yawn snuck up on him, and Spencer found himself getting ridiculously sleepy. He debated with himself whether or not sleeping would be a good idea-- - he still didn't have an explanation for last night's event's. Another yawn escaped him. 

Well, he _**did**_ have tomorrow....

And that is how the debate ended with sleeping victorious. The sleepy young man closed his book and set it to the side before curling up in the recliner and dozing off into a surprisingly nightmares-lee sleep...

...until he was rudely awoken by his phone in three in the morning. 

He groaned, unlocked it, and saw what the commotion was that the cameras were alerting him that they had caught some motion in the living room. Spencer blinked-- - **_he_** was in the living room. He must have moved during his sleep and sat a camera off.

But, curiosity got the best of the young genius, and he checked the live-feed. It was the camera he hid in the bookshelf a couple of feet behind the recliner... and what Reid saw standing behind him made his blood run cold.

It was a man.


End file.
